The Mystery of the Man Cave

As anyone who has watched a few hours of HGTV will tell you, a few recurring themes seem to stand out. Couples seem to think they will spend a lot of time engaging in simultaneous tooth brushing and thus must have double sinks or they will simply perish. An alarming amount of women proceed to swoon and obsess over kitchen updates, while the men insist they need something known as a "man cave". So what's with the man cave? Why do they need to go back into the cave? 

Now I finally get it.

Just the other day, I was setting up a cute little heater, some throw rugs, and lighting for my son and his friends in our fairly clean garage. As I settled into this new space to work on a Halloween costume, I thought--wow, this is nice. Finally, a space that was really isolated from the ever present neighbors and associated sights, smells and sounds that seem to be driving me nuts...I felt quite relaxed and realized I had finally discovered the secret of the man cave!-- It's called "hiding out".

I had meant the space to be a "kid zone only", but as I enjoyed my alone time more and more, wheels were spinning-- how can I make this into an art studio? How can I make it even better! So I plugged in a radio, added more lighting. Then came the power strip, plugging in a little electric stove, and I just couldn't stop myself from vacuuming. Yes, I had to vacuum the garage too...

And then as quickly as it began, it was all over. I completely blew out all the power in my lovely "garage kid zone/ women cave". No matter what I try in the fuse box--I can't find the switch to reset it!! Now there is "no cave" at all, (well unless you like it all natural and want to add a fire pit). I should have stopped while I was ahead, and left it for the kids.

But alas, I did discover the mysterious allure of the cave....

When the Humans Just Don't Get It

I'm getting a bit tired of the confusion seemingly expressed by some Westernized countries whenever a pile of immigrants comes marching towards their preciously developed nation. Call it what you want: 'illegal immigration', 'war torn refugees, 'seeking new opportunities'--it all comes down to the same damn thing: the global population reached four billion in 1974, five billion in 1987, six billion in 1999 and, according to the United States Census Bureau, seven billion in 2012.
Is it too hard to comprehend, that people are going to need to go somewhere? Any place better? As resources run short and folks fight for their share--wars will increase, opportunities dwindle, land will run out and water disappear. Duh. Ask any SUBURBAN SQUIRREL what their life is like!
People poo-pooed all the overpopulation speculation of the mid-century, because they couldn't visualize what it would look like--well this is what it looks like folks. And someone as bat-shit crazy as Trump thinks the solution is to seal up our borders and reduce economic opportunities in foreign lands. No matter what you do--for millions of years, when resources run out--humans have migrated--that's what happens!! Ask any common cockroach --as they do it too--it's in our DNA and how we have survived through vast periods of climate change and dissolving resources in the past.

And the conservative white men keep scratching their balding little heads, wondering why any of this is going on. Oh wait--not sure they are wondering--they just know they don't like it. So they will keep on erecting larger fences and cutting funds to Planned Parenthood International, as this they like to do! Because in their tiny minds, apparently every unwanted and unplanned child has the right to be born and live in abject poverty--as long as they don't try to come over to 'my country'.

Can You Really Handle a Free Range Child??

If one were to classify the dilemma of the "over-scheduled child" into an appropriate category, it would most certainly be: "white rich people problems", subcategory: "East Coast". 
If you look at the over-caffeinated types that wax and wane about their 'stress' and 'busy, busy lives'--it is really code for: "truthfully, we just think we are better than you."
And then some overzealous New York Times columnist (who has apparently never left Westchester), will catch this faux "complaint" and write some opinion piece about "stressed out, over-scheduled lives" and those children--they never get to just play --because they are so very busy attending dastardly supervised activities all day! After that, The Atlantic will post a piece on the importance of letting your children play in fake junk yards, because after all, dirty mattresses foster creativity.

Nobody sees the bizarre irony here. Always acting like powerful poltergeists have possessed society into buying McMansions, going crazy with stress, and signing their kids up for 101 activities. It couldn't possibly be a choice now, could it?
 I digress, but let me tell you--there are in fact many, many children out there--who are still left unattended and unscheduled.
And of course, I happen to have fallen ass backwards into this type of neighborhood. 
I honestly didn't have a strong opinion one way or another on this whole "free range kids" matter. So luckily, when I learned that most families on my street practiced an "outdoor time--no screen time" rule --I let my child roll with it. He easily transitioned from being a helicopter parented child, to one that disappeared down the block.
Yet, having now experienced what a loose child means, begs the question: could all these nostalgia junkies, that romanticize having 'unscheduled' children 'playing freely in the woods' really handle it?
Case in point--last week. 
My child goes outside to join in the fun--kids hooting and causing a general commotion somewhere down the street.
Later in the evening, said free range child returns home --covered in some sort of tribal markings. 
Curious parent (me) asks: "So what are those markings on your face"?
Answer: "Warrior marks". 
Ok. "Where did you get the paint?" 
Reluctantly answers: "It's dirt from tires, it makes good face paint".
Hmmmm. Parent: "What exactly is this warrior game?"
Answer: "Well we all have some sticks and swords and there is a king and warriors, and we need to protect our kingdom". 
"From whom?" 
Reply: "Well the high school track team keeps knocking over our basketball net". (as they run on the street for practice).
"So we hid in the bushes and ambushed them, we threw our spears".
Parent: "Threw spears?"
Answer: "Yeah --we threw sticks and swords at them".
There you have it--give the 'free range' kids points for creativity, not so much for hygiene (tire dirt on face) and of course (as to be expected) escalation into violence. And me having to give the old: "someone is going to lose an eye lecture". Do the advocates of free range play, really think that left to their own devices, children will be quietly playing "tea party?"

Me and The Nutty Tree

During my relentless pursuit of privacy screens and greens, I did make one observation. The Pacific Northwest is home to some of the largest damn trees you have ever seen (that's not the obvious observation), but what is--is that in my particular neighborhood folks don't seem to appreciate gigantic neighboring conifers dropping an endless supply of tree debris on their roofs. (but of course everyone is too darn nice to actually say anything about it).

Anyway, I decided to actually *try* to be a somewhat courteous new neighbor and embarked on a meticulous tree researching project. The result--voila! A well compiled list of non-offensive, drought tolerant, semi dwarf evergreens.

Specimen list in hand, I drove right over to my favorite nursery to peruse the inventory. Oh which happy dwarfs or semi dwarfs would join me?? Louie Pines? Reid jades? 
But alas, I have the attention span of a puppy-- 10 minutes into my evergreen shopping- I stumbled upon a cute little thing, something called an Italian Stone Pine. Did I mention this pine produces pine nuts!?? Yes, the owner told me--you'll have your own pine nuts! Ding, ding, ding--the wheels in my head started spinning--oh pine nuts are sooo expensive--this thing will save us money! I snatched up the specimen, stuffed it into my jeep and drove on home--not caring that of course a tree is never refundable.

I hit the computer to research more growing tips for my adorable pine and there it was:

A mid sized (!) stone pine in Italy. Oh this is not good. Where oh where, am I going to plant my little monster now???

Can You Not Help Me, Please?

As is my new routine, I began my day hunting for fast growing landscaping hedges. Foiling the overly friendly neighbors with foliage has become an interesting hobby of sorts.

Unfortunately, the proper privacy conifers were unavailable this day, thus I decided to run a simple errand at a local grocery store.

By now, I have somewhat reluctantly accepted the Oregonian way of being greeted by about 6 different strangers in the parking lot --before entering any building at all. As I gave the obligatory nods and hellos to the passers by, I rushed to the entrance.  Normally I expect to be hassled by overly eager-to-please employees inside the store during some point while shopping. But today, they wanted to set a record. Before the automatic door had even shut behind me, the deli lady felt compelled to run over, breathlessly exclaiming: "oh can I help you find something?"

I looked at her somewhat perplexed at her sprint, and stated a casual "no thank you".

To which she replied, "but you looked so confused."

Confused? I knew I was in a store, thank you. Just didn't know which direction to start walking in the very first second I entered, which apparently means I require professional assistance.

But I regress, the grocery store is simply an exhausting experience in friendlyville. 

There is my experience with the slice of cake from the Safeway bakery. Nobody could avoid commenting on my "yummy cake". (It was just a $1.99 slice of crappy cake!!) Not only did the cashier squeal with delight 'how delicious my cake looked', the bagger chimed in, "oh how he wanted that piece of cake! "

At this point, it simply crosses a line. Am I now supposed to give these crazy cake deprived people my confection or what? 

Yet, to me, the ultimate friendliness assault happens at another (I will leave it unnamed) grocery chain. For some reason, their standard check out chit-chat consists of relentlessly asking me: "so what are you up to today??"

And each time I try to muster a smile and say "nothing much". 

But THEY CAN'T let it go. The cashier pursues and pursues--"oh, but you must be dooing something today?? 

At which point I break down, raise my voice and scream: "I am running boring errands!!" Which seems to satisfy them.

My son has stated that he fears going to the store with me, as I have planned a list of bizarre replies to the question of "what are you doing today?" (as I find it intrusive)

They are in no particular order: 

"robbing a bank", "shaving my cat", "picking my nose", and "going to your house". But of course, the last one would probably just get me an invite to dinner. It's all so exhausting.